The Oblivious, White, Female Professional

I write this knowing that not all white, female, young professionals are oblivious. I'm sorry if you get roped into this and are a compassionate, aware-of-the-world-around-you kind of white female professional. However, having been a 20-something, young, white, childless professional with name-brand bags and shoes that make the kind of noise that declare my importance when I walk once myself, I feel I can totally pull off this post.

You see, I was you, once. I know... you look at me now and you see a frumpy mom with three young children who may or may not have showered in the last week. I bet you can even tell I shop the Target clearance rack for most of what I wear. The rest of it, in case you're wondering, comes from Amazon because it's tough to take three kids clothes shopping when you need to shop for yourself. It's kind of like the Hunger Games, actually. 

Once, about a decade ago, I was the one wearing designer clothes... all of which are packed into a plastic bin (from the same Target trip in which I bought my $6 shirt). I had my name-brand handbags and shoes. I talked on my cell phone (we didn't have iPhones back then) about shopping and work. I always talked about work. I was very important, just like you. 

I got facials every 3 months, and manicures, and pedicures and massages... ah, yes, massages. I went to the salon and spent a ridiculous amount of money on my hair. I traveled. I drove a sports car and it was shiny.

I want to take a brief pause and tell you what prompted this post... 

Yesterday, while at the doctor's office with my three sick kids, one of "these" came in with a friend for her own appointment. While I took my 4yo son to the bathroom she stole my seat and threw her Louis Vitton handbag on top of my pile of diaper bags and little-people jackets. When I came out, she was chatting about boyfriends and shopping and working out and "oh we should get drinks". I stood there, with nowhere to sit, as my children played noisily and disrupted her conversation and my baby screamed and clawed at my chest because she wanted me to sit down and nurse her RIGHT NOW. The Oblivious, White, Female Professional didn't move when I said, "Excuse me," and pulled my purse out from under her perfectly clad tush. She just said, "Oh! I thought that was a jacket from the other chair!" 

I want to take a moment to say to that woman... I was you once. Let that sink in. Let the terror and disgust of the image you see: this tired, haggard, 30-something, Target-clearance-rack-clad woman with a messy pony tail, saggy boobs and no make up who stands before you with babies clinging to her; let this image of me seep into the very recesses of your soul... I WAS YOU ONCE. 

Then I had kids. And I wouldn't trade it for the world. See what you have to look forward too?

Happy Halloween! :)